When Mischief is Afoot
by KLMeri
Summary: Jim and Spock are up to something. Leonard wants to know what that something is. Mischief ensues. Gen. - COMPLETE
1. Part One

**Though I am currently focusing on the development of my space_wrapped story (posting date will be December 15th!), here is a fun piece that occurred to me in the meantime. I have been sitting on this for about a week and figured you might as well see what I have so far. Not sure about the ending yet, though!**

* * *

It starts with the sidelong glances and the whispers. Leonard is not used to this reaction to his presence when he enters a room, per se, but he has had his moments of fame (and infamy, as it were) in the past so he is not exactly surprised, only a little confused. Had he done something recently—yelled at yet another diplomat or yelled at Spock (who is like the Enterprise's resident ambassador with all of his Vulcan-this, Vulcan-that arrogance)—to inspire such awareness from the crew? His moments of temper blur together quite often, especially on the "bad days" when nobody listens his sage advice—Spock, again—and invariably someone gets himself in the kind of trouble that results in hours of surgery—the Captain, who is bolder than an armada of Klingons but with less sense (at least in the sense of self-preservation). In conclusion Leonard has had his fill of foolishness from the supposedly smartest, most talented officers in all of Starfleet; thus he yells. A lot. It's good for his peace of mind.

But he cannot recall being in a pique for at least two weeks. So why is he popular today?

He pretends ignorance of his new-found attention and goes about his errand. After all, a ship full of curious beings is inevitably a ship rife with gossip. He lets his nurses keep tabs on the ebb and flow of the rumor mill, and they are wise enough to know when to bring certain subjects to his attention, even if they do it indirectly by discussing the rumors loud enough that he can hear them. He knows when Jim takes to midnight wanderings about the ship, and he keeps apprised of where Scotty has relocated his hooch still, and if someone notices that Spock is snippier than usual, Leonard makes it his business to poke his head into the science lab or on the Bridge and gage the XO's mood for himself.

Since no one in Medical has related a rumor about him, he must assume whatever is driving the stares is fickle in nature and very unimportant. Errand complete, Leonard returns to Sickbay and forgets the strange atmosphere altogether by settling into the familiar routine of his work. That is when, approximately an hour from shift change, the occurrences (which he will later nickname Events No CMO Should Have to Endure) begin.

* * *

_Two days later_

"Bones—"

Leonard shushes the man with a quick flap of his hand. "Not now, Jim."

Jim Kirk, also known as the Captain of her Majesty, the Enterprise, slows in his approach and stops just abreast of McCoy. Leonard has almost flattened himself against the corridor wall as he peeks around its corner at someone or something. Jim edges past him and tries to look as well. "What's going on?"

Leonard jabs him in the side with an elbow. "Quiet for god's sake," he whispers, "or he might hear you!"

Jim straightens and stares at the back of the doctor's head. "Why, exactly, are you spying on my First Officer?"

"Not spyin'," the man mutters, never taking his eyes off of Spock standing at some feet away. "Hidin' first, spying second." He mutters for a few seconds under his breath. "..._-eared hobgoblin._"

Jim pulls a towel from his neck and rolls one shoulder to loosen tensed muscle. If he is disturbed by the odd behavior of the CMO, he gives no sign of it. "We'll talk later, Doctor," he says and strides past McCoy and into the corridor containing the focus of Leonard's attention. "Spock!" the captain calls cheerily.

Leonard withdraws and leans against the wall, rubbing a finger against his bottom lip in thought. "So they're in on it together," he concludes and shakes a finger at a passing ensign in triumph. "I knew it!"

* * *

Elsewhere, Jim walks into a turbolift accompanied by Spock. "Bones was watching you."

"Affirmative."

"Do you think he has figured it out?"

Spock replies, "Not at this time. However, discovery is imminent unless the doctor is suitably distracted."

The glint in Kirk's eyes is, as agreed upon by both his enemies and his friends, foreboding. "Consider him taken care of, Mr. Spock."

* * *

Leonard is considering whether or not he wants to call in a member of the Bridge crew and pry for the secret he obviously hitherto has not been allowed to know. There's a plan afoot, maybe a dastardly plan, and Leonard is being kept out of it. As if his days aren't mundane enough with physicals and vaccinations and paperwork. He is purposefully relegated to a state of boredom (and by a friend no less!) when he could be in the middle of something fun. Spock refuses to even comprehend the meaning of fun. So why is Spock a better choice than McCoy?

It is in this state of brooding which an officer encounters Leonard inside a nearly empty medical bay. "Doctor McCoy," the newcomer announces, "I'm here for your lesson."

Leonard ceases in his stabbing motion at a PADD and frowns at the young man. "Lesson?" Then he notices the pale tint of the man's skin and the fixed smile and asks "What's the matter?" while reaching for a medical tricorder with his free hand.

The officer swipes at beads of sweat along his brow and shifts his stance nervously. "I'm fine, sir. A little hot."

"Hm. Your blood pressure is up. Why don't you have a seat?"

But the officer stiffens, saying, "The Captain has ordered flight training for personnel of elevated rank, sir," as though Leonard hadn't spoken. When McCoy looks up from the tricorder in order to focus on him, the young man fumbles. "I mean, uh, not that you don't have the training or that you're bad at, um...sorry, it's a refresher course?" he finishes weakly.

Leonard requires some seconds to absorb this news. His initial desire is to slam the PADD down on the nearest surface—which he might be imagining is Jim's head—but he doesn't do that, however, because he knows how to play it cool when necessary and the medical equipment really isn't at fault. With an exaggerated care, he places the PADD and tricorder aside. The understated reaction has the desired effect: the officer swallows noisily and takes one cautious step backward.

Leonard asks, voice calm, "Does this order apply to all senior officers?"

"To senior officers not on a designated command-track, sir."

He stands up and rocks forward onto the balls of his feet, hands behind his back. "Are you implyin' I'm not in a position of command? That I don't _command _this department?"

"No, sir!"

"Because I can give you a clear example, Lieutenant, of the kind of command I am capable of—and you won't like it."

"Sir, no, sir! The Captain said it!"

"Said what?"

"That I'm supposed to keep you in Simulation f-for a while! Captain's orders," the officer pleads like this is his last line of defense (and it is). His eyes grow large. "W-What are you doing with that?"

"Just checkin' the cartridge dose," the doctor says. After a momentary pause, Leonard puts a hypospray next to the PADD. "So. Jim wants me occupied." Wisely the officer offers no opinion on that comment. "Well now, we can't disobey an order, can we? Chapel!"

Christine Chapel enters the open bay area from a side door, her quick entrance leaving little doubt that she heard the entire conversation. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Seems I'm gonna be tied up this afternoon in a flight course." He eyes the pale-faced young man.

She lifts her chin slightly. "What do you need me to do?"

Leonard continues to stare at the officer, eyes intensely blue. He smiles. "Go about business as usual. Send somebody down to the docking bay in a little while. They'll be needed. Let's go," he says as he reaches for the officer's arm. "I want my pick of the shuttles."

"S-Shuttle? But we use the simul—"

"Can't have a proper flight lesson without a proper shuttlecraft!"

Protest goes unheeded. The officer whimpers over his shoulder at Christine as he is tugged out of Sickbay. She ignores him, collects the discarded PADD, hypospray and tricorder and calls the remainder of the medical staff out of hiding.

* * *

Twenty minutes and thirty-six seconds have passed since Captain Kirk left the conn in Spock's care in order to "proceed with The Operation." Spock recognizes the use of capital letters well enough through tone of voice but does not comprehend the reasoning behind that usage, particularly when it is not in proper grammatical context. Nevertheless, per Jim, The Operation is considered underway. Were Spock to question the particulars of it, he would be bound by logic to point out its inherent flaws. So he does not inquire why the Captain believes now is the appropriate time to move forward with the plans decided upon some weeks previous.

He realizes belatedly keeping apprised of all those 'particulars' may have been the wiser course of action. Ignorance lends no boon when dealing with humans.

"Sir," Uhura says while she adjusts the frequency of her earpiece, "shall I open a channel to the shuttle?"

Spock stands in front of the captain's chair, watching the vessel bob steadily in space before the Enterprise. Tiny as it is in comparison to the starship, the craft seems to hover with a menacing air.

"Please, Lieutenant." When the communications officer signals that the channel is active, he says steadily, "This is Commander Spock. Pilot, identify yourself."

Static crackles over through the speaker for a brief number of seconds, until it shapes into a voice the Vulcan has the misfortune to be well-acquainted with: "Well good day to you too, Mr. Spock."

Spock need not look around to feel the immediate alertness of the remaining Bridge crew. Though generally considering himself to be hale in both mind and body, Spock suspects if he was human he would be experiencing the sudden onset of a headache.

"Uhura," he says quietly over his shoulder, "the Captain should be in Rec Room II. Alert him of the... situation."

"Already done, sir."

Spock focuses on the viewscreen and the open channel of communication. "Dr. McCoy..." He pauses momentarily to consider the many things he could say, and of those things which would actually have an effect on the human in question. "Your vessel has taken unauthorized leave of the Enterprise."

"Vhat he is doing out there?" Mr. Chekov asks in an undertone, brows drawn and side-glancing at Mr. Sulu. Sulu lifts his shoulders in a shrug.

Spock increases his pitch just enough to carry strongly through the channel. "You will return to the docking bay immediately. Tell the pilot—"

A low, dark chuckle breaches the space between them. "You're talkin' to the pilot. Ain't nobody out here but me, myself, 'n I."

Spock requires six point two seconds to formulate a response. During that time Chekov confirms quietly that sensors read only one life-sign aboard the shuttlecraft. He sounds awed.

Spock finds himself asking, or rather ordering, "Explain, Doctor."

"You ought to be askin' Jim to do that, Mr. Spock. Where's he anyhow?"

He cannot answer that question, unfortunately, and would not be surprised if the doctor knows this.

As though McCoy can hear his private conjecture, the doctor demands, "Well you'd better get him up here, pronto!" The shuttle suddenly seems to wobble, and the CMO's preferred choice of profanities fills the static. "...What—_damn it_, where's that confounded—? Hey, Spock..."

He turns to look at Uhura, who understands the unspoken command to place a rescue assembly on standby. "Doctor?"

"I bet you've got every bell and whistle on this contraption memorized."

"Affirmative."

"Then what's this button do?"

"Unless you engage the video relay, Dr. McCoy, I cannot know what you are seeing."

"Hmph. No need to be smart about it!" More muttering comes across the channel. "..._thought this was the—dadgummit!_"

"Dr. McCoy," and no, it is not alarm which Spock is currently experiencing, only a slight trepidation for a possible unfortunate outcome, "it would be best if you do not—"

"I know how to fly a shuttle, Spock!" McCoy snaps. "I got out here, didn't I! Now, maybe Scotty did some re-engineering on this thing since I was last in it—"

That is high unlikely, but Spock knows there is no point in telling this to the riled human. Abruptly, as they are watching on the viewscreen, the shuttle shudders with violence, then stills. Spock hears a soft, familiar beep from Chekov's computer terminal. Relief is not unknown to Vulcans; Spock tucks his aside.

"What did I just do?"

"It appears you have engaged the forward deflectors."

"...Oh. Good. That's a good thing."

"The shield is best utilized when you are under attack."

"And I'll kindly ask you not to shoot at me. Hrm, so what's this red thingamajig to the left of the deflector switch?"

Spock says hastily, "The button will fire the vessel's main phaser bank, Dr. McCoy. Please do not press that button." He is not certain he likes the implications of McCoy's laughter.

"Worried, Spock?" comes the merry drawl.

"At this time, my only concern is that you are not aboard the Enterprise."

"I'm flight trainin'."

Spock lifts an eyebrow. "Without the aid of an instructor?"

"Funny thing, the poor man started havin' heart palpitations. I couldn't clear him for take-off, now could I?"

Mr. Sulu hunches over his console, suddenly fascinated by some output or another. Spock pretends not to notice the way his shoulders are shaking—or Chekov's subsequent grin.

"Doctor McCoy..." Spock begins in a steely tone. It is far past time to conclude this nonsense.

The lift doors open, admitting one harried and displeased-looking Jim Kirk. Kirk's eyes immediately narrow at the Bridge screen and the wavering pinpoint that is one of the Enterprise's shuttles. "Report, Mr. Spock."

"Jim!" McCoy crows with unnecessary volume over the loudspeaker. Spock forgoes speech and steps down from the chair's platform, placing his hands behind his back.

"_Bones?_"

"Well now, don't sound so shocked, Captain."

Jim's tone indicates he is not only shocked but close to furious. "McCoy! What are you doing—"

"I'm in a bit of a pickle, you see. _Somebody _put me on the training roster for a flight lesson—"

Jim flushes, and Spock has to put his back to the sight. _If ever there were a guiltier face... _He takes a seat at the science station.

"—and seeing as how I don't really have the time or inclination to be playing around in space when I could be _fixing people_, I decided to get this over with. Now. Coach me back."

Jim's mouth works on a silent _What?_

"Jim," McCoy coaxes, "you wanted me out here so it's only fair you take some responsibility for bringing me home." There is a significant pause before the doctor adds, "...Unless you have plans to be elsewhere. You could always tell me about those instead and see if I let you beg off."

Kirk lowers himself into his chair, expression sour. Clearly he knows when he has been outmaneuvered by a crafty CMO.

It takes some time of step-by-step instructions and abundant patience to guide McCoy through the re-docking process. During that time, Spock comes to the conclusion Leonard's poor skill at piloting, given that he had smoothly and almost undetectably maneuvered the vessel alongside the Enterprise before the ship's scanners sensed him, is in direct proportion to Jim's ire. He says nothing of this conclusion, however, and, glancing around, recognizes that no one else shall either. Had he had advance warning, he would have gladly explained to Jim in extensive detail why a flight lesson for McCoy is a terrible idea. But some individuals can only learn through the consequences of making a mistake. Jim, today and in this circumstance, is such an individual.

As for Leonard McCoy, the Vulcan muses, that is another problem entirely. He is proving to be powerful opposition to The Operation—and that must be dealt with, Spock determines, _logically_.

* * *

**TBC?**


	2. Part Two

**Um. I messed up. This was not supposed to be serious or more than two parts. My apologies.**

* * *

Leonard has been relegated to his office like a child sent to stand in the corner for misbehavior. Jim is not happy with him. The doctor suspects this has more to do with his interference with Jim's plans than any insanity he may have caused in the small department of shuttle pilots (who have, the nurses gossiped, replaced space amoebas as their number one threat with old, blue-eyed country doctors). But, Leonard thinks, this unfortunate state of affairs is Kirk's fault anyway. He ought to be the one apologizing.

He is not sulking over a stack of paperwork and a shot glass of Saurian brandy. He is particularly not sulking when Chapel pokes her head into his office to announce, "Mr. Spock is here."

"What's he want?" drawls the brooding McCoy. "Come back to seduce my nurses some more?"

Christine chastises "Doctor!" but a light blush deepens the color in her cheeks. The way she glances behind her means that the First Officer is no more than a few feet away—and definitely within hearing range.

Leonard slouches in his seat and grumps, "Well, let the pointy-eared hobgoblin in." It takes little effort to look peeved at the interruption to his (innumerably slow, terribly boring) day. He wouldn't want Spock to get the wrong idea, that Leonard might be marginally excited to have somebody to fight with and, more importantly, who will fight back. Because what kind of staff simply rolls their eyes at the CMO when he's criticizing them? A disrespectful lot, that's what!

As the Enterprise's only resident Vulcan lingers at the threshold of his office, Leonard releases an impatient snort and waves him the rest of the way inside. Spock obliges him by entering but then simply looks at him for a long moment, in his customary pose of hands clasped behind his back. Just when McCoy is on the verge of speaking, Spock breaks from his looming stance and gracefully folds into the singular chair in front of the CMO's cluttered desk.

Leonard feels his eyebrows shoot up. Spock almost never _sits _when he visits, preferring to stand in order to (in Leonard's opinion) better lord his logic over someone he considers inferior-minded. Wondering how much Spock is willing to concede in order to play "equals" today, Leonard holds up his Saurian brandy in a silent offer.

"No, thank you, Doctor."

Leonard is somewhat relieved. He plunks the bottle back onto the desk and gathers the edges of his invisible mantle of irritability, comforted by the familiarity of the act. "Still too good for some things, I see."

"I do not find the taste of that particular brandy pleasant. Perhaps you should improve your selection of beverages before inviting a guest to share a drink with you."

Even as Spock says this, he is suspiciously relaxed. Leonard can detect no signs of tension in the Vulcan. That only serves to increase whatever paranoia Leonard is beginning to feel. Leonard leans forward and projects his annoyance with his voice. "I think we both know you're not here as a guest, Spock. What do you want?"

Spock steeples his fingers, gaze mild. "I would like to make a request of you."

Hm. Interesting, as someone in the room might say. "What's the request?"

"You desire to know of a matter which has proven to be mysterious to you. I ask simply that you cease to pry."

"Why?"

"If the matter concerned you, we would have asked for your involvement—but it does not. In prying, you only force us to further conceal that which must remain secret."

The sting of the words, intentional or not, spark Leonard's temper. He has the sudden urge to push away from the desk but does not. "Your logic is cold as always, Mr. Spock," he responds softly. "You say it's not my business but I tend to disagree. Whatever goes on under this roof is my business."

"You will have to be specific with your references, Doctor. I do not follow."

His fingers find a stylus and grip it. "Last time you were here... what were you doing?" At Spock's silence, he insists, "Maybe you think I've only got half a mind most of time, but I happen to notice unusual occurrences in my own Sickbay—especially when somebody other than me calls a meeting with my staff!"

A faint green becomes visible along the edges of Spock's ears. "Doctor..."

"That was the first thing which tipped me off. The second was realizin' nobody could look me straight in the eye and tell me what you had said to 'em."

By the way he straightens minutely, Spock has regained his bearings. "It is my prerogative as First Officer—"

"Oh, bullhocky! How would you like it if I came over to Science and started ordering about your lab techs?" demands Leonard.

"I gave no orders."

"Then what did you say?"

"I cannot discuss it at this time."

So full of agitation is Leonard that his chair shakes with it. "Y-You—Spock, get outta my office."

Spock does not move right away.

"Was I unclear, Commander?" Now he stands, still vibrating like a tautly wound string. "For once, you got something right. There isn't a damn thing I want to discuss with you right now. So go away."

Spock stands up too but his slow movement indicates uncertainty—or reluctance. "It was not my intention to anger you."

He doesn't answer that, marching to the door, because if Spock won't leave, he will. He won't be cornered.

"Dr. McCoy," Spock calls.

Leonard stops inside the doorway, having managed to vent enough of his emotion through sharp motion (maybe this is why Jim's paces? he muses) that his voice only sounds grim and not as deadly and terrifying. He tells the Vulcan, "If you'd asked me to trust you and be patient, I could accept that request, Spock—instead you said mind your own business. When I start minding my own business, I stop being a doctor. I thought you understood that but obviously you don't. In case you were wonderin', _that's _why I'm angry."

Then he leaves, resigned to the fact he isn't going to learn what's going on and also full of regret that this 'matter' as Spock called it has drawn the line between him and the rest of the crew. Whatever Jim and Spock—and others, apparently—are up to, it had better be worth this misery they're causing. But he has a sneaking suspicion it isn't.

* * *

Christine knows something is wrong the moment Leonard McCoy stalks past her to the double doors which act as both entrance and exit to the medical bay and doesn't acknowledge her or mention where he is going. A minute later, her steady heartbeat increases to a hammering when Mr. Spock appears from the direction of the CMO's office, his countenance withdrawn.

"Mr. Spock?"

"It would seem the logical approach has failed" he comments mysteriously and heads for the double doors, unknowingly following in McCoy's footsteps.

Worried, she intervenes before he can reach the exit. Mr. Spock won't appreciate her worry, Christine knows, so she asks, "Sir, have you had word concerning the..." and trails off, experience having taught her that Medical is full of keen ears, only second to Uhura's band of communication officers. Of course, it won't matter who hears them since Dr. McCoy is the only one who should not be privy to the topic of discussion and he is gone.

"The announcement is not to be made for another two point five solar days."

"Oh," she murmurs, disappointed. If they knew one way or another, things would be much easier. Secrecy would be moot then, wouldn't it? Christine asks her next question to confirm that no one knows more than anyone else, because even she occasionally feels like she is missing half of the details. "But I heard the Captain is already planning for," the nurse falters, deciding on the proper phrase before she continues with "a positive outcome."

Mr. Spock answers, "Captain Kirk believes in his crew. It has not occurred to him the outcome may not be in our favor."

She squares her shoulders and adopts her _I-know-I'm-right-about-this_ face. "I have to side with the Captain. We _will _win."

The First Officer considers her thoughtfully. "There are other contestants with an intellect, an expertise, and an undoubtedly illustrious background that supersedes Dr. McCoy's."

"But Leonard's ours so he deserves our complete faith," she explains. "Who would you trust more to take care of you if you're sick—McCoy or a research medalist?"

"Dr. McCoy has proven his skills in the field many times," the Vulcan replies solemnly, which Christine translates as _The only human witch-doctor I would tolerate touching me is the one I know and, no, I never intend to admit this, even under pain of death_.

"Then he is the 'best' in his field, by our standards—and I've been told the standards of the Enterprise seem imposing and impossible to other fleet ships." Her smile softens as she says that. This is truly the best place to be, and not just because of how she has learned and grown since coming onboard.

Spock pauses by the door on his way out. "Thank you, Nurse Chapel," he says, "I believe you have clarified a question for me." The double doors slide shut seconds later upon his retreating figure.

She is not quite certain what he means, but Christine thinks it must be a good thing. Now, how to track down McCoy? He really ought to have told her where he was going!

* * *

Some hours later in the privacy of his personal quarters, the Vulcan First Officer states, "Captain, I believe we should tell him."

Jim looks at Spock askance as he sets down a chess set on the small table between them. "I thought we agreed to make it a surprise."

"Surely the surprise will be who is awarded the honor."

Jim's mouth curves at one corner. "This is not guilt talking, is it, Mr. Spock?"

"Guilt, Captain?"

"I caught sight of McCoy in the mess earlier. I've seen Klingons with happier expressions, and rumor has it they're born sneering."

Spock occupies himself removing each chess piece from the set and placing it in its correct starting position.

After a minute or so of silence, Kirk orders, friendly but firm, "Okay... out with it, mister."

Spock understands easily enough that Jim wishes him to explain the thoughts troubling him, and he briefly toys with the idea of feigning ignorance. In the past, however, ignorance has been a difficult pretense to maintain around Kirk without other readily available distractions. Jim won't let the game be a distraction for the mere fact he will refuse to play until Spock talks. So Spock is left to say, albeit as impassively as he can, "I suggested to the doctor that he should not involve himself in a matter when his participation is not requested."

Silence looms. Then, "You're joking."

It's the flat way that Jim speaks which causes Spock to grow eerily still. "I... am not."

The human closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Oh, Spock." But he says nothing more.

"Jim?" Spock inquires after a full twenty seconds have passed.

Kirk releases a breath and reaches for a chess piece. "When it comes to personal campaigns, we are both poor tacticians, Mr. Spock." Kirk's shoulders slump slightly. "Tomorrow we tell Bones." The human looks like nothing other than a child who has had his secret gift to someone unjustly spoiled. In a way, Spock supposes, that simile is true of their situation.

...But at least the odds are in their favor once Leonard McCoy knows about The Operation. He will forgive them for their folly… won't he?

* * *

"Mr. Scott!" Leonard calls, sidling into Engineering when two young fellows exit, chattering nonsense among themselves. He looks around but sees no Chief Engineer. Leonard prods the nearest sleepy-eyed lieutenant. "Where's your lord and master?"

The man looks up at him, blinking dazedly, like he had been lost in a dreamland of mathematics and engine schematics and only the things that Scotty's troupe could adore. Then the young man collects himself, having identified who wants his attention. "D-Dr. McCoy!"

The stuttering is unnecessary, in Leonard's opinion, but amusing. The doctor rocks back on his heels. "Hello there. I'm looking for your department head. Seen him lurking about?"

The man's eyes cut sideways to a nearby room even as he answers "No?"

"Was that a question?" Leonard asks, mainly curious to see if the boy will continue to lie to him.

"Nooo."

"Allllright," he counters in the same tone.

"Sir?"

The doctor points to the room the engineer had made the mistake of looking at. "So he's in there?"

"Of course not!" the man claims hastily, only to pause midway out of his seat and hunch in on himself when Leonard gives him a very menacing glare. Wisely the engineer sits back down.

Leonard makes a token tap upon the inside wall as he enters the alcove; a muffled response comes back. The air smells like burnt wire and scotch.

"Scotty?" McCoy inquires of the lower torso he spots poking out of an open panel in a nearby wall.

More mumbling. Then, "Aye, aye, hold'n. Didnae I tell ye to let me alone for ten minutes, lad?" Scotty pokes his head out of the hole, and his long-suffering expression brightens upon seeing McCoy. "Doctor! What a surprise!" He sticks out a grease-stained hand for a handshake but quickly retracts it with a sheepish "Sorry."

"How're things, Scotty?" asks Leonard. After a quick search, he locates a stool he can drag toward the spot where Scotty is still wedged half-in and half-out of the paneled wall, some tool Leonard hasn't seen before in his hand.

The response is immediate and warm. There's nothing the engineer loves more than to talk about what he is doing for Her Ladyship, the Enterprise. It does Leonard's heart good to hear someone so enthusiastic about their work. He knows the Chief Engineer does suffer from stress easily, in the way his blood pressure is in constant fluctuation such that Medical tracks his readings daily or how regular, healthy meals have never been part of the man's diet (as is typical, Leonard finds, with genius minds too preoccupied by what they can build or solve next). If Scotty is happy, he is less likely to be feeling poor enough to warrant Leonard's professional attention.

In the moments when the starship is in the heat of battle—or some strange alien skirmish—Leonard always spares a thought for Scotty, who is working his hardest, utilizing his quick thinking and his many skills to keep the ship together in one piece—and thereby keep alive the four hundred plus crewmen who depend on the strength of the Enterprise's shields or someone's know-how to stop the warp core from melting down and destroying them utterly. McCoy has seen the aftereffects of that kind of responsibility days later. Often there is little to be done by that point except prescribe rest or, when the stress has manifested into insomnia, to share a drink with Scott and provide a listening ear.

At this moment, Leonard wishes only to have a companionable drink with his longtime friend; in this way, he can at least be reassured one of his relationships isn't under the duress of some insanity or other, as seems to be happening often of late.

Perhaps Scotty sees the longing in his eyes for someone who won't ask questions and won't judge. The engineer levers himself from the floor and puts away his tool in a kit. Then he takes something else out of his kit and holds it up for Leonard to see. "Will this do, Dr. McCoy?"

"Bless you," Leonard replies, relieved.

"Ah won't tell if you won't." Scotty gives him a knowing wink as he uncaps the flask and unearths two tiny shot glasses from the kit as well.

Amazing, the doctor thinks, what's considered vital in an engineer's tool belt. Sadly, Leonard knows he would never hear the end of it if his head nurse discovered bourbon in his medkit. He accepts the small glass of rich brown liquid and announces somewhat smugly to his drinking partner, "I'd like to see 'em try to stop us, Mr. Scott."

"Aye," the amiable Scotsman agrees and downs his shot in one swallow.

They refill their glasses, salute one another and settling into sipping at the fine scotch. The Chief Engineer returns to his spot on the floor with a grunt and a familiar complaint about his aging joints. Leonard says he can easily relate to that, one of his thin hands falling to his knee to absently rub at the side of his kneecap.

Minutes pass.

"They make me furious sometimes," Leonard says out of the blue, once the silence has grown comfortable. He taps a finger against the side of his empty glass, finding a rhythm that is vaguely reminiscent of an old tune.

Scotty looks contemplative. "The Capt'n and Mr. Spock—they've not said a thing? Well." He turns over his glass in his hand as if it holds a truth only he can see. "_Everybody _knows."

"I don't," Leonard says pointedly, his mouth turning down. "And it doesn't seem right."

"I could tell ye," offers his friend, rather calm.

He almost asks but in the end slumps forward in self-imposed defeat. "Better not."

Scott nods gravely. "Aye, it really isn't my secret to tell anyhow." Oddly he sounds like he didn't expect Leonard to make any other choice than the one he did.

Leonard sighs. "Just answer me this: why me?"

"'Cause every'ne respects you the most, Doctor—even those whose respect is born of a healthy dose of fear."

That makes no sense to Leonard but he smiles anyway. "Thank God you're the one to keep the ship afloat, Scotty. I'd trust your wisdom over Spock's boneheaded logic any day!"

Pleased, Scott thanks him. They set their glasses aside, and Leonard spends a half-hour learning the difference between circuit relays and conductors. By the time he leaves he still has no idea what Scotty is accomplishing with his tangle of wires but Leonard's heart feels less heavy and his mind clearer.

Then, of course, he runs into Jim in the cafeteria and his troubles are right back where they started— and he is once again wondering why his friend is set on driving him crazy. So, inevitably, Leonard concocts a crazy plan of his own.


	3. Part Three

**I seem incapable of finishing this in a short and concise manner. Almost done.**

* * *

People are afraid of Leonard McCoy for one simple reason: his temper, when it comes, is like the sudden crack of lightning and thunder. It can take a person unawares with its ferocity, even someone who feels he ought to be acclimated to it from repeated exposure. Nevertheless, when the storm that is McCoy has begun everyone—including the dumbest of fools—knows to seek immediate shelter. McCoy will argue about many things, including whether or not the sky is blue, but his true anger is usually reserved for matters that involve a patient. The doctor can and will fight if he has to, but he only attacks to save a life.

This is a fact which will never change, nurse Christine Chapel thinks as she watches the CMO circle a biobed like a vulture about to swoop in on some tasty carrion. The young man in said biobed has the bed sheet pulled up to his nose.

"You'll have to repeat that, Ensign," the doctor drawls in a mild, forewarning tone, "'cause my ears must be stopped up with old age. I thought I heard you say _you left Sickbay because you had more important things to do_."

The ensign mumbles something beneath the blanket. It might not be words, decide the nurses among themselves, but whimpered regrets for an impending demise. Thus they are caught off-guard when the ensign does the stupidest thing possible, rolls his eyes and lowers his bed sheet to say to his doctor, "But Mr. Spock never stays in here more than a day, sir—and one of those times you operated on him!"

Collectively Christine and her colleagues wince and raise their clipboards like shields. Though they are out of the line of fire that doesn't mean there won't be flying projectiles in a matter of seconds, depending on what is near to McCoy's hand.

Oddly nothing happens.

Next to the biobed, McCoy has stopped circling and is motionless, his gaze fixed upon his patient. Unnerved by the deathly silence, Christine shuffles a step forward to the edge of the scene and calls, "Doctor?"

With an alarming slowness, Leonard lifts his head and pivots in her direction. When their eyes meet, Christine rocks back on her heels as if struck by an unexpected blow.

"Nurse," the CMO states flatly, "this man is not cleared to leave the bay. See to him."

She draws a breath to say something—to argue, perhaps, because whatever just occurred is utterly _wrong_—but Leonard is already moving away from the area. Once he is gone from sight, the woman next to Chapel releases a soft gasp. "Did you see that?" she asks Christine in a voice close to trembling.

Christine saw it all right—and it chills her.

The ensign has returned to hiding under his covers again. Christine goes over to soothe him and to give him an extra blanket because he is quivering. If her hand is also wobbly as she tucks the second blanket around his shoulders, it's because the world seems like it has been shifted slightly, in a way that makes everything subtly unsteady. The normal drone of the medical monitors are too loud in the quiet of the Sickbay; the staff's movements are louder still, to the point of being intrusive.

Who knew Dr. McCoy could look so emotionless? So cold?

The more urgent question then becomes _why? _She must know why so this can be prevented from happening again. Because if it does happen again, who could the medical staff possibly tell without being chastised for inventing nonsense? Leonard is the one who listens and takes their observations seriously. Would he listen if she points out that he might not be acting like himself?

Somehow Christine doubts he would.

* * *

The moment his office door is closed, Leonard drops his head forward and lets his hands curl into fists. This plan is harder to enact than he thought.

All of the words he could have said to the idiot he'd caught sneaking away from the medical bay are crowding in his mouth but all Leonard can do is vent some of his frustration with a sincere curse.

Spock and his damnably poor example-setting! If the Vulcan's adoring fans knew how difficult it was to get Spock to sit still in Sickbay for one hour, let alone a day, they would have a better respect for Medical! Remembering some of the instances with picture-perfect clarity, Leonard grinds his back teeth. The Vulcan only ever does the opposite of what he's supposed to—slipping out of his biobed when he is half-dead and ought to be recuperating, or getting underfoot all of the time like a dog who refuses to leave its master when Jim is the one confined to Sickbay.

Leonard can't win for losing with those two. And now he can't even dress down an impressionable ensign who is intent on following the same path of insanity.

By the time Leonard has achieved what he wants, he is either going to have quit his job, become an alcoholic, or both. It would probably be easier to fall prey to alcoholism, he decides as his hands unerringly seek out the bottle of brandy stashed at the back of a desk drawer, given that he seems to spend most of his time these days comforting himself with something strong and potent. That he also accredits to Mr. Spock and the Captain. If only they knew the lengths they were driving him to...

But they won't know, not until Leonard has successfully infiltrated this Operation he keeps hearing whispers about. Jim thinks he's sneaky; Spock assumes he is sneakier since he's Vulcan.

The truth is no one is as sneaky as Leonard McCoy. He was raised in a family full of annoying cousins, and the only way to survive the annual McCoy family reunion was to know thy enemy better than thyself. Leonard has a long history of knowing when to play the dupe—and when to frame the upside-down cake on the dining room floor on the third cousin who spends his time bullying the littler kids. Jim and Spock can't beat him at this game, no matter how hard they try.

The intercom on his desk gives a warning buzz before Chapel's voice filters through the speaker. "Dr. McCoy, the Captain and Mr. Spock are here to see you."

Leonard has already formulated his response before he opens his mouth. "Do they have an appointment?"

"No, Doctor." The _why would they? _is inherent in her voice.

"Then unless it's an emergency, I'll see them by appointment only. Medical works on a schedule like everybody else, Nurse."

Christine is hesitant with her answer this time. "...Yes, sir."

Leonard switches off the channel and slumps into his chair. He figures he has ten seconds to mope before Jim remembers who the boss really is aboard this vessel and barges in. So Leonard takes five seconds for moping and remaining five for a quick escape. It isn't time to reveal his hand just yet.

* * *

Wordless, Christine looks at Jim Kirk as the intercom goes dead. Kirk is staring at it with a funny expression.

"Captain," Mr. Spock breaks the stiff silence, "perhaps we should—"

Kirk comes alive again, his shoulders drawing backwards. Christine feels her own self snap to attention under her superior's gaze.

"No harm in playing it Bones' way, Mr. Spock. Nurse Chapel, I want the first available opening in Dr. McCoy's schedule."

She sees the glint in Kirk's eyes, knows what is expected of her and is more than willing to provide it. "His schedule is open as of now, sir. Will an hour be sufficient?"

"Let us hope so," the Captain says, turning away. Mr. Spock watches her retrieve a PADD and begin to enter the appointment into the department's scheduler before he turns away too and follows Kirk. She brushes her hair back from her forehead once they are gone and tucks the PADD against her chest.

Is McCoy angry because of the secret?

A few minutes later, the captain strides back into the main area of the med bay looking decidedly grim. He goes to the nearest computer terminal and relays a terse command to locate Dr. McCoy. This is when Christine begins to worry in earnest that Leonard isn't simply angry—and that the look in his eyes earlier is a symptom of much more frightening problem.

* * *

The only thing Leonard knows about the The Operation is that he isn't supposed to be privy to it. If he were to compare this knowledge to a similar case some months ago, his stomach would tighten another notch. Jim had kept him in the dark last time in order to use him. Those few days had been utterly terrifying for Leonard because he watched not only the leader of the ship but a close, personal friend become erratic to the point of endangering lives.

Or so he had thought when Jim ordered the Enterprise straight into the Neutral Zone and into the hands of the Romulans. It turned out the act was a charade, a ploy to complete a covert mission from Starfleet Command to steal a piece of technology from the Romulans.

That operation could have gone wrong in so many ways that Leonard still has the occasional nightmare from it. So whatever is going on now makes Leonard equally determined he will be a part of it instead of being used so blithely again without his knowledge. Plausible deniability can be a nifty trick in a politically sensitive situation but Leonard would rather live with the guilt of keeping the truth to himself if it meant he could make a fully informed decision about his own involvement. He understands the military strategy of 'need to know' when it comes to highly dangerous operations but that doesn't make it an easy explanation to swallow when you are a trusted crewmember who still falls short of that category.

There's one place to start, one person with whom to begin whose finger is, by regulation, required to remain on the pulse of the ship more so than a CMO's position warrants. And Leonard knows just where to find her so early in alpha shift.

One kind or another of the roses are always in bloom all year-round. The botanists see to that with a particular care. Leonard takes a path through the garden that he knows by heart until he reaches a wide open circle. A beautiful woman, seated upon a bench and humming while her fingers play across a PADD screen, lifts her head at his arrival.

"Dr. McCoy!" she says, surprised.

The lilt of her voice lifts his spirits. "Ms. Uhura," he says and grins, pretending to pluck a hat from his head and bowing like a gentleman. "Why, I heard the sweetest song and came to find the little bird who was singing it."

She smiles. "Sir, you make me blush."

He wanders closer. "Are you sure you're not from the Old South, darling? You'd make the loveliest of Belles."

Uhura laughs delightedly and pats the empty side of the bench in invitation. "You're an outrageous flirt, sugar. Sit down before you get yourself into more trouble."

He likes Uhura. He truly does. She's smart as a whip and cool as a cucumber. "More trouble?" he echoes playfully. "When have I ever been in trouble?"

Placing her PADD on her knees, Uhura looks at him with a small smile and an elegantly arched eyebrow.

"Okay," he admits, after a moment of her silence, "maybe that one-man shuttle flight wasn't my proudest moment."

"Mr. Spock was greatly disturbed by the lack of security in the docking bays. It's no longer a matter of if there will be an impromptu inspection of those departments but _how many _and for how long."

"Spock likes an excuse to make inspections."

"Which doesn't mean," Uhura says wisely, "that you should give him one, Doctor."

Leonard's grin may be a little on the sheepish side. "Yes'am."

Uhura closes a program on her PADD and powers off the device. Then she straightens and gives him her full attention. "What do you want to know, Leonard?"

Planning to ask Uhura and actually asking her—one action might require more courage than the other does, Leonard realizes. He clears his throat and taps his finger against his thigh. "You've probably heard that Jim's up to somethin'—something about an operation..." he hedges.

"Yes, I know of The Operation. The Captain asked me to take part in it."

Of course Jim did. She's Chief Communications Officer. He hates that her words sour his mood slightly because Uhura isn't saying them to be cruel. Leonard sighs through his nose. "I suppose there's a good reason why everybody's in on it but me."

"Oh, yes," she says, eyes twinkling.

He stares at her for a long moment.

"Think about it logically," Uhura advises.

"Good lord, not you too," he groans, laying a hand across his eyes.

Leonard is ignored. "Why would everyone aboard the ship know about a mission _except _for the ship's Chief Medical Officer?"

"That's what I've been sayin'!"

"Leonard," the woman next to him points out with a hint of exasperation in her voice, "you may be saying it but you aren't _thinking _about it. Why would you keep a secret from me?"

"I wouldn't."

"Stubborn old goat," she retorts, bopping his leg lightly with her PADD. "In theory, if you were keeping a secret from me..." She trails off deliberately.

"It'd be because I don't want you to know about it," he finishes, which is exactly what he was just talking about. Then he recalls what else she said and mutters under his breath, "_Old goat, my sainted aunt_."

Uhura is known for her persistence. "Why not?"

"'Cause I don't know what's good for me?"

She snorts softly. "Why else?"

He thinks about it. He wouldn't want her to know the secret because she doesn't need to know about it... but no. That doesn't make sense. If he didn't tell her a secret it would be because the secret—

"—was about you!" He stands up in his excitement. "Are you saying _I'm _the secret?"

Uhura is shaking her head, like she is amazed that he is so brilliant and yet can be so utterly dumb at times. But Leonard is too startled by his revelation to pay attention to her expression.

He's the secret? Well, no, not the secret itself, but the secret is about him! ...Wait. Leonard frowns down at the still-seated woman. "It's not my birthday."

"No, Leonard, it's not your birthday." Uhura stands as well, letting her amusement color her voice, and tucks the PADD under her arm. "My shift starts in another hour."

That's a clear dismissal if he ever heard one. Leonard, who really is akin to a stubborn goat when he wants to be, asks anyway, "Have you had breakfast?"

"Are you trying to bribe me, Dr. McCoy?"

He pretends innocence. "I'm merely inquiring as your physician, Lieutenant."

"That is a prudent answer," she tells him solemnly, though her eyes are twinkling again, "because the Captain has placed us under strict orders to take no bribes from wily old country doctors." She reaches up and pats his cheek like a parent would to a child before walking away at a brisk pace.

Jim. Jim, Jim, Jim. It always circles back to Jim. Leonard bounces on the balls of his feet in agitation. Jim, who has concocted The Operation, which has to do with McCoy. The question remains: would Jim play an elaborate joke on Leonard, or is he planning something nice?

Through a near-decade of knowing James T. Kirk and thinking he has a good grasp of how the man's mind works, Leonard would have to guess that Jim's intentions are strictly honorable. After all, the man wouldn't know a good joke if it came up and kicked him in the rump. Jim has as much admitted that he was never one for fooling around during his Academy years. Spock too, Leonard has to concede, wouldn't agree to keep silent about a hoax.

...Maybe, just maybe, Leonard has been making a mountain out of a mole hill. He's on the verge of feeling embarrassed about this—and just slightly guilty—when two figures come stalking down the rose garden path.

"Bones!" Jim Kirk snaps out almost harshly upon sighting the doctor, and by the working of his jaw, Kirk is fit to be tied, as Leonard's grandmother would have said.

"Jim," Leonard begins, feeling his embarrassment triple under the glare of his friends, "I think I ought to—"

"Is this funny to you, Doctor, making us chase you around the ship? I don't have time for this!"

"Excuse me?" Leonard closes his gaping mouth. "Make—" There is a hot flare of emotion just underneath his breast bone. "—_make you? _Jim!"

The Vulcan's steely gaze falters somewhat at the rising voices, like he just now realized letting an irate Jim face off against an irate Leonard can never end well, and he tries to interrupt with a reasonable "Gentlemen..." but it is far too late. Jim uses the word childish to describe Leonard's actions. Spock tries to disagree but no one hears him because Leonard's sputtering ends in a shout of indignation about who the child really is. The argument devolves from there.

In the end, with one finger prodding into Kirk's chest, Leonard uses the only weapon he has. "That surprise of yours you've been working so hard to keep hushed up? Well, I know _all _about it, Jim, and NO THANKS! So you can just cancel the whole thing!"

He must have said the right thing because Jim's red face suddenly pales. "I can't cancel it."

"Well," Leonard says, though he falters on a word in uncertainty, "y-you shouldn't have done it in the first place."

Wordlessly Jim takes a step back, putting distance between them. Spock's "Jim" sounds rather helpless. Leonard's stomach sinks, and he knows quite suddenly that he pushed too far.

"It wasn't just me," Jim says at last, slowly, like he is forcing the words from his mouth. "The ship—the whole ship, Bones, wanted this for you—and you think—" Color has returned to his face.

Without a doubt, Jim Kirk is angry, so angry he does not trust himself to speak. Only Leonard doesn't know why.

Jim pivots on the ball of his foot and leaves the garden. Spock stays rooted next to Leonard though Leonard suspects every fiber of Spock's being wants to follow Jim.

Leonard looks to the one person who has never lied to him outright and asks, "What did I just do?"

The Vulcan returns McCoy's look evenly. "You insulted the beliefs of over four-hundred crewman, including the Captain."

That sounds bad, but still Leonard is baffled. "What belief?"

"Our belief," Spock replies, voice quiet enough to be considered grim, "in you."


	4. Part Four

Leonard waves the Head Nurse into his office, discreetly checks that no one else is around to hear them, and tells her, "I think I spoiled my surprise."

"What surprise, Doctor?"

"The you-know..." Leonard gestures grandly with his hands.

The blonde-haired woman frowns at him.

He mutters under his breath then clarifies, "The reason that Spock was nosing about in here a while ago."

She frowns more deeply, no doubt concerned that he thinks the Vulcan First Officer 'noses about' in his spare time. When she reaches out to feel his forehead, Leonard bats her hand away.

"I'm perfectly healthy, not to mention perfectly sane, Christine."

"I'm not so certain you are," she counters, an odd expression in her eyes. "Is there... anything bothering you, Dr. McCoy?" Laying a comforting hand upon her superior's shoulder, Christine adds gently, "You know I will help if I can."

Leonard sighs, tempted to cover his face with his hands. Oh, he knew this was going to come back to bite him. But so soon? "About this morning... I may not have been—well, that is, I might have put on a little bit. But just a little!"

The nurse looks at him. She seems ready to say something but doesn't and just looks at him some more.

"I'm sorry if I worried you. I had a plan." Leonard winces. "That sounds bad, doesn't it?"

"As surely as it does coming from any of you three."

"Any of you three who?"

Christine simply shakes her head. "Never mind. If you truly are sorry, you will apologize to that poor ensign. He hasn't come out from under his blanket since this morning. The readings on his biobed monitor are the only reason I feel relatively reassured he hasn't expired."

Leonard cannot help but smile at hearing that. "Nurse, you were there. I didn't do anything to the man. He should be grateful I was easy on him!" Then he recalls what the idiot said, and about whom. "In fact, make a note... Mr. Spock needs a talkin'-to about how his lack of adherence to medical authority sets a poor example for the other crewmen of this ship." Leonard rocks forward on the balls of his feet and bounces slightly. "How soon can we fit that meeting into my schedule?"

"Leonard," Christine tells him in an impressively serious voice, "two things: one, please do not embarrass Mr. Spock—it isn't wise; and two, the fact is you are _scarier_when you don't say anything."

He drops back to his heels. "You want me to yell at people?"

"I would rather you didn't. The clean-up is horrendous. But at this point, we—by which I mean your loyal, long-suffering staff—are accustomed to it."

He cannot decide whether he is insulted or flattered. Time to stop talking about his poor people skills; it's embarrassing. "I'm not certain how this conversation got off-track, Nurse."

"Neither am I. Can we return to the part where you spoiled a surprise? Wait," she gasps, "you don't mean the award? Oh, Leonard, _no_."

"Award?" he echoes. "Who's getting an award?"

"_You are_," Christine tells him, her fingers tightening on the PADD in her grasp.

He prudently puts some distance between them. She sort of looks like she wants to smack him with that device. "Do you mean to tell me all of the whisperin' and stares and _dire secrecy_ is over an award?" Then Leonard thinks about it, really and truly _thinks_. "...Wait, who would give me an award, Christine? And what in god's name for?"

Christine lowers the PADD to her side. "I cannot believe you just asked me that question."

"The question seems legitimate to me. Is it for perfect attendance?" He grins slightly at his own joke.

But Christine isn't laughing. She is looking at him oddly again. "Doctor, what—exactly—did you mean by 'spoiled'?"

Leonard hates to remember that. It isn't a shining moment in his life, by far. Sighing, he admits, "The Captain and I argued, and I stuck my foot—well come to think of it, ankle, leg and all—in my mouth." And in front of Spock, too, whose memory seems particularly tailored to record each and every of Leonard's unfortunate failings as an illogical specimen known as a human being. "I told him I didn't want the surprise." The tears in the nurse's eyes startle him. "Christine?"

"It's nothing," the woman replies, straightening and regaining her composure almost instantly. "I believe the ensign can wait. The first person you must apologize to is Captain Kirk."

"I was afraid you would say that."

"Why?"

"Because it means Spock's actually got a decent head on his shoulders—and that he's right. I am a jackass."

Chapel's mouth opens slightly in surprise. "Mr. Spock called you that?"

"How should I know? Is there a word for it in High Vulcan? Dadgummit, I knew that pointy-eared computer was badmouthing me!"

"I—" Christine starts to say, then falters. "I am leaving now." She turns for the door with a shake of her head but, surprising Leonard, looks back at him. "Tomorrow is the announcement of the winner. We want you to win whether you think it's foolish or not. Promise me you won't spoil _anything_ for _anyone _until then."

"I can promise to try."

"I suppose that's good enough," Christine replies with a faint smile. "If you can spare a half-hour or so, we could use your expertise in Lab 2."

"Did somebody blow something up?"

"Doctor, this is Medical, not Engineering."

He can agree to that, and does so wholeheartedly. "I'll join you there shortly, Chapel. Let me check my messages first."

She nods and leaves him alone in this office. Leonard eases into the chair behind his desk and pokes at the computer for some minutes. If, after giving a cursory attention to a ship-wide communication about inappropriate use of the cafeteria trays, he does a little 'spying' of his own and attempts to figure out the nature of the award he should be the recipient of, he does not mention his curiosity to anyone, especially his Head Nurse.

* * *

When the door to Jim's quarters slides open, he isn't surprised. He especially isn't surprised when Leonard McCoy sticks his head in the room and says, "Knock, knock. Anybody home?" Then the doctor spies Jim and lifts a tray for Kirk to see. "I'd actually knock but as you can see my hands are otherwise occupied."

Jim looks at the covered tray and raises his eyebrows. "I hope that's not salad."

McCoy comes into the room and sets the tray down on a table. "I wouldn't expect a salad is an appropriate 'I'm sorry' gift."

"It definitely isn't," Jim agrees. Appreciatively he holds the small glass up to the light to admire the color of the liquor after Bones hands it to him. "Where did you get this?"

"A good doctor may share his secrets but a rich doctor never does. Thankfully, I'm of the poorer variety. I picked it up from some trader named Jones on our last shore leave. Drink it slow now," Leonard warns him. "It has a kick like a draft horse."

Jim takes a tiny sip and still his eyes water. "You weren't kidding!"

Leonard smiles and sips from an identical glass.

They spend a few minutes savoring the liquor in silence. Normally the silence would be more comfortable than it is at present but words hover at the back of Jim's throat, as irritating as an itch between the shoulder blades. Once he is a third of the way through his drink, he sets it aside. Following the cue, McCoy lowers his glass to the table too.

What comes out of Jim's mouth, however, are not the words he expected he would say. "I thought you might be Spock."

His computer terminal beeps suddenly from the other side of the room. Jim stands and makes his way toward it.

"Hm, I can't say I'm surprised you haven't seen hide nor hair of him. This is really our fight, Jim. I imagine he's been analyzing and re-analyzing the same should-I-or-should-I-not debate in his head since this morning. You know he doesn't like to meddle in 'human tiffs' if it can be helped." Leonard raises his glass again to cover his smile. "Lord knows, it might mean he has to suffer an emotion or two."

Cutting a narrow look at his friend as he presses the speaker button, Jim answers the insistent beeping. "Kirk here."

"Captain."

"Speak of the devil," mutters McCoy.

"Mr. Spock," Jim acknowledges. "What can I do for you?"

"I intended to determine if you might be amendable to a game of chess at this time, but given that I can hear Dr. McCoy's voice, I believe the offer is inopportune."

If Jim has company, Spock hesitates to come by. Jim has to wonder if, on Vulcan, the number of invited guests in one visit is kept minimal by custom. Though it may simply be that Spock prefers to limit his interaction with humans during his free time. Jim resolves to figure this mystery out sooner rather than later.

"None of that now," Leonard says at the speaker, having snuck up to stand just by Jim's shoulder. "Come on over. I swear we're not braiding each other's hair."

Jim chokes on a laugh. After a notable pause of silence from Spock's end, he takes pity on his Vulcan friend and explains, "Bones means to say we aren't doing anything of importance." Bones open his mouth to protest and Jim silences him with a look. "See you in a minute, Commander."

"In fifteen point two seconds, Captain. I am next door," Spock corrects and disconnects the call.

Turning to watch McCoy, Jim asks "What are you doing?" even though he can guess.

"What it looks like—counting to fifteen. Damn it, Jim, now you've made me mess up!" Bones stops counting on his fingers. "Half the time I think he just spouts numbers to intimidate us."

"You don't look intimidated," Jim remarks dryly, trailing back to the table. He considers the door Spock will come through at any second. "Is this still a fight?"

"I don't know. Can you forgive a foolish old friend his folly? I didn't mean anything I said, Jim."

The door chimes to announce Spock's arrival. Jim is smiling at Leonard as the Vulcan enters. "Me too, Bones."

"Fact is," the doctor goes on to say, raising his voice slightly as if Spock isn't an arm's length away, "I guess I'm honored."

Eyebrow cocked, Spock graciously takes the bait. "Why is that, Doctor?"

Leonard smirks at him. "You must think I'm pretty wonderful to nominate me for an award."

"Certainly we do, Bones," Jim replies once he realizes Spock won't deign to respond to that. He claps a hand on the man's shoulder. "Besides, of those on the Enterprise, you're the only one who's eligible to win it!"

A strange look crosses Leonard's face. "What?"

Spock, too, looks as near to pained as Kirk has ever seen him. "I believe, Jim, that was not the most tactful way to express our appreciation."

"Bones already knows he's the resident medical genius. Though I did ask Chapel if anyone else qualified as a candidate. It's important to be fair," he tells McCoy, sounding mildly apologetic.

"O-kay," McCoy says too quickly, and Jim has the sudden realization that something has gone unexpectedly wrong. But Bones is already collecting his tray and the glasses. "Just realized I'm going to be late for an appointment. There's this ensign I need to see to. He's very anxious to be out of Sickbay."

Jim looks, confused, to Spock for an explanation. Spock is watching McCoy but he says nothing.

Not until, that is, McCoy reaches the door. "Doctor," Spock states in his even but instantly captivating tone, "a few individuals wish to gather in one of the recreational lounges to hear the name of the award's recipient. Will you be present also?"

Leonard looks to Jim. "Am I needed there?"

"Not needed," Jim answers, aware that he needs to be careful of what he says, though not why, "but we would be glad if you came."

The doctor nods and leaves.

Jim turns to his officer and, more importantly, to his friend. "Did we miss something?"

Spock loosens the hold of his hands and allows them to rest at his sides. "Apparently so. Though what that 'something' is, Captain, I do not know."

* * *

The Chief Medical Officer, eyes fixed downward, seems not himself as he tranverses the starship corridors. Many faces take note of this and wonder what could be troubling him so. Then they move along themselves, places to be and business to attend to.

* * *

"I don't deserve it," Leonard says in passing to Christine as he comes through the medical bay.

She stops mid-restocking of their tricorder cabinet to listen.

"There's a reason I decline that kind of recognition." He pauses at the corner of the table and looks her straight in the eyes, a frightening kind of pain in his own.

"Sir?"

"There're things I failed to do, Christine, as a doctor, as a s—" He cuts off, swallows. "You don't know, but I do. I'm sorry," he tells her with real regret.

"Doctor?" Christine calls after him. "Leonard?"

He doesn't answer, and he doesn't come back.

* * *

**I give up. Next part is definitely the end. Also, alluding to one of the movies here, if you know McCoy's background.**


	5. Part Five

The fateful day arrives. Personnel in Medical are tossing smiles at each other and making light jokes. The Enterprise's resident botanists are skillfully creating exotic bouquets that they planned a week in advance. It is said there is already a small pre-party going on in Shipboard Services, particularly those of Housekeeping and Maintenance, since the workers figure they'll be the ones cleaning up after the real party. If Klingons were to attack in that moment, the warrior race would be too disgusted by the shameful weakness of their enemy to be so cheery and would seek a bloody battle elsewhere.

Leonard is not so cheerful. In fact, he is not certain how he is going to maintain the pretense of a positive attitude when his heart still hurts as badly as it did the day before. This isn't the fault of anyone, he knows, pouring himself the last of the liquor from a small decanter. It's his problem. Some painful personal experiences he will always keep close to his breast, never telling a soul. They will have to be taken from him by force.

The man comes to the conclusion he does not have a choice in the matter of this 'award'. He cannot bring unhappiness to others when it isn't deserved. He must bear up. If he can focus on the intent of the gift-giving rather than the nature of the gift itself, it could be possible to put aside his inner turmoil.

He _is_ pleased that the crew is thinking of him. He _is _grateful to be the recipient of such strong faith. The rest must not matter. Caring for others' hearts more than his own, Leonard would, in any other circumstances, see this day through. So that is what he must do now.

Resolved, McCoy empties what is left in his glass into his bathroom sink and digs through a personal medkit for a detox hypospray. Then it will be a shower and cleaning up the rest of himself so it is never known he spent a restless night reliving old memories that still have the power to hurt.

* * *

"Do we have the broadcast system up?"

Uhura taps her stylus against the PADD in her hands, waiting on the ensign's reply. He is the newest addition to her communications team and shows promise. But if he can't manage a simple re-wiring of the lines...

"Yes, ma'am!" the ensign says, beaming. "I set her up last night and tested all the connections myself."

"Good work," Uhura praises as he brings the system online to prove his claim. She checks one item off her to-do list and moves on to another section of the large room.

"Mr. Scott!" she calls, pleased to see the man in question in the rec room so early to help with some of the event preparations.

"Ah, how lucky I am to hear such a lovely voice in the mornin'," replies Montgomery Scott, turning from his conversation to greet her with a wide grin.

Uhura smirks and raps his chest with her stylus. "Careful what you wish for, mister."

His grin widens. They share of a silent moment of great affection for one another before one of the men from Scott's group clears his throat. "Er, do you want us to check those fixtures now, Mr. Scott?" the young man asks, face red as if he feels embarrassed.

"Aye, lad," the head engineer agrees amiably. Immediately, not just the one 'lad' but all of them scurry away into the melee of people hanging banners and setting up tables. Scotty indicates the snack bar with the inclination of his head. "How about a drink, my lady?"

"It's too early for that, Mr. Scott," she admonishes him. Then, softening her expression at his disappointment, "...But I suppose we might take a short break and enjoy some orange juice."

They walk together to the snack bar, run by a lone lieutenant from the kitchens who has put himself in charge of making certain the hard-working party planners have breakfast.

"Who's responsible for gettin' the doctor here?" Uhura's companion wants to know as they take two empty seats at the bar.

"That would be the Captain and Mr. Spock," she replies, making a quick note on her list. "Kirk was disappointed that he missed most of the planning committee's strategy meeting due to the... unexpected shuttle incident."

Scotty chuckles. "Aye, that Dr. McCoy... Didn't surprise me at all."

She has to wonder at that; then again, Montgomery and Leonard have become fast friends, no doubt because they are the closest in age among the officers.

Being on the Bridge at the time their CMO showed up, wobbling through space in a shuttlecraft and giving Mr. Spock's eyebrows fits, she couldn't figure out what possessed the man to do something so outrageous. Then Uhura realized later that McCoy was onto their Operation, at least in some respect, and he was being vocal about it in his own way. She has to give him points for getting their attention so spectacularly.

"I suggested to the Captain," she continues on, "that if he wanted to help, we would need a way to lure McCoy in at the right moment. So he volunteered himself and Mr. Spock. Apparently," she adds, amused, "the Captain believes he is ingenious enough to accomplish the task."

"More like sneaky enough."

"Exactly."

Montgomery, smile playing about his mouth, takes a dramatic swig of his orange juice. "Well, lass, no one ever told me it was dull on a flagship."

"Dull it definitely is not," she agrees and raises her glass of orange juice. The Chief Communications Officer and Chief Engineer toast each other and spend a pleasant ten minutes chatting about nothing in particular. It is, in their opinion, going to be a good day.

* * *

Jim Kirk is up early thinking about a potential problem. Jim's First Officer is up earlier since the Vulcan rarely goes to bed at all, it seems, and so Jim calls Spock over to discuss what they need to do. "I guess we don't have to kidnap McCoy after all," he says.

"I do not believe I agreed to that plan, Captain."

Jim gives his friend a sharp look. "There are times when one must do what is necessary, Mr. Spock, though it may seem like an extreme course of action."

Spock murmurs something about kidnapping a senior officer being a _very _extreme course of action in regards to the circumstances. Jim ignores him and curls his fingers into a fist on the table where he is seated.

"I'm not convinced," he voices his concern, "that McCoy will show."

"The doctor did give his word."

"I know that, Spock, but you saw his reaction. There's something we overlooked when we began this." He thumps his fist softly against the tabletop but it does nothing to ease his frustration.

"Perhaps," Spock says gently, "it is not an oversight on our part but a lack of information."

Jim gives the thought momentary consideration but ends up back at an argument he can't seem to let go. "I don't see what would make Bones unhappy about receiving the recognition he deserves for all of the work he does in his field. He saves lives, Spock. Nobody can look down on that!"

"'Let the motive be in the deed and not in the event,'" quotes the friend at Jim's side.

Jim narrows his eyes but stays quiet, knowing the Vulcan has more to say.

"One such as Dr. McCoy considers his work as a duty, not a means to an end. Do you require accolade to perform your function as a captain proficiently?"

"No, but I certainly don't think it a bad thing if the praise is deserved." In fact, he would rather hear, just once, someone from Command say _good work, Jim—thanks for not letting our enemies destroy everything we see stand for. _But he wouldn't shirk his duties knowing there was no reward waiting for him. It's enough that Jim knows his crew appreciates him and what protection he can provide. The rest doesn't matter.

Spock steeples his fingers thoughtfully. "I would suggest, then, that the doctor does not believe the praise is deserved."

Jim tries very hard to fathom that, and finds he cannot. He's rather flabbergasted by the idea. However, he is well-aware of what their limitations are at this time. "We can't push him about it," he says grimly.

"Indeed, we cannot."

"Then we'll simply have to convince him little by little, starting today."

Spock lifts an eyebrow. "The task may require some time and effort."

Jim smiles. "Do you doubt my abilities, Spock?"

"I do not doubt you will utilize every available resource to pursue the task to its very end."

"Great! We will call this Operation II, to commence immediately until such time as the end goal is achieved!" Jim stands up from his chair and briefly claps a friendly hand upon Spock's shoulder. "I'm glad we had this conversation, Commander."

Spock, for his part, simply sighs through his nose and follows his commanding officer from the room.

* * *

"Well, this is something," Leonard remarks admiringly at the brightly lit, decorated rec room from between his two escorts. He cuts his eyes at Jim and lowers his voice. "You didn't have to swing by Sickbay and pick me up. I was planning on comin'."

"It was on our way, Bones," his friend replies, not looking at him, and steps away from their little group to return a greeting from a pretty-faced psychologist named Helen Noel. Leonard met her at the official welcoming when she joined the crew some months previous.

Seeing the subtle shift in Jim's body language and hearing the 'charm' enter his voice, Leonard doesn't dare interfere. He eyes Spock on his right instead. "What's your excuse?"

"I have no excuse, Doctor, because I am not in need of one."

"Of course not," he responds dryly. "Why don't we leave Jim to his..."

They eye Jim and the dark-haired woman.

"Why don't we just leave?" McCoy finishes.

Spock is already heading toward the other end of the room. Leonard hurries after him.

"Mr. Spock!" Uhura exclaims upon seeing the Vulcan. Seated upon a small stage with a few other crewmembers, she lowers her instrument and asks, "Will you be joining us?"

"Shortly, Lieutenant," Spock tells her. "I would see Dr. McCoy settled comfortably first."

"I'll need a drink to get comfortable," Leonard mutters at Spock's back.

"I did not assume otherwise, Doctor."

"Hobgoblin," he retorts, rather childishly pleased. The two officers skirt the crowd for the snack bar and wait their turn at the counter.

"You must expand upon your repertoire of insults, Dr. McCoy, or I fear the term, so frequently repeated, will lose its intended effect."

It seems it already has, Leonard thinks, watching Spock order him a mint julep. He is grinning unabashedly when Spock turns around to hand off the drink to him.

Spock doesn't dare ask him about the grin. Apparently he understands Leonard well enough by now to know better. Such a shame!

Leonard takes a sip of the mint julep and makes a noise of approval. Then he waves the Vulcan away. "You've done well. Go on, go to your harp or whatever it is."

"A lute, Doctor."

McCoy shuffles to an empty bar stool, sits, and pointedly turns his back to Spock. He feels Spock's eyes lingering on him and waits patiently until the sense that he is alone returns. He leans forward, planting his elbows on the bar, and slides the drink away from him. It would look bad, wouldn't it, if he put his head in his hands?

Somebody would tattle, surely. The man of the hour isn't supposed to look miserable. Then Leonard wouldn't be left alone for the rest of the evening.

"Leonard," a feminine voice calls his name.

He looks around to see Christine at his shoulder.

"May I join you?" she asks.

He nods. "Want something?" He lifts his hand, prepared to catch the attention of one of the barmen.

Christine sets a nearly full delicate crystalline glass down on the counter. "No thanks. I've already been plied with wine."

He perks up, interested. "By who?"

Chapel's cheeks turn slightly rosy. "...The ensign you kicked out of the bay yesterday."

"First he disobeys a direct set of orders, and now he's tryin' to date one of my nurses? Lord, that man is a fool! Where is he?" Leonard growls.

Christine pokes his arm. "Don't you dare."

Leonard mutters a rude name or two under his breath. There will be time enough later to find the ensign. He's pretty sure he can concoct something that will be suitably undetectable in the bloodstream which can help him discover the young man's intentions towards Christine. If ever there was a time to use his powers for evil...

"You're brooding," Chapel accuses him.

He rolls his eyes. "I am not."

"You promised, Leonard." He looks away. _That was before I knew anything,_ he doesn't say. _I'm the real fool here._

Taking a swallow of his drink, Leonard says, "I know I did."

"Do you want to tell me why you're against it?" the woman at his side asks softly.

"I'm sorry, Christine, but I can't talk about that." He takes a shallow breath, admits, "I won't."

She is quiet for only a heartbeat. "...All right."

His shoulders slump with relief.

A wave of excited voices rises from the main room, echoing into the snack bar and turning the patrons' heads. Christine tugs at his arm with a sudden insistence. "Oh, it's time! Hurry, we might miss it!"

Leonard would love to miss it. He really would.

She won't let him. They return to the very middle of the recreational room without delay as if people are moving aside for them, where a large screen built into the far wall flickers to life. Leonard looks at the faces around him, in many states of excitement, varying degrees of hope shining in their eyes, and feels his heart clench. It takes him a moment to realize those faces next to him are his people, his doctors and nurses and lab technicians and administrative staff—almost the entirety of the Medical department. They've formed a group around him, enclosed him in the center of their circle.

He cannot help but turn to the screen, drawn by their sense of anticipation.

The Surgeon General of Starfleet Medical is looking back at them from a podium in an auditorium Leonard remembers well from his days on the San Francisco campus. The man is speaking, and though the words of the transmission are clear enough despite the Enterprise's monumental distance from Earth, what Leonard hears is a blur over the sound of the pounding in his ears—until the Surgeon General's mouth shapes Leonard's name, says it as clear as day.

Cheers erupt. People laugh, people cry. Leonard sways on his own feet and feels himself being propped up. Someone takes him into their arms and hugs him tightly. He clings, not knowing what else to do. He is let go and immediately passed around for more hugs. Everyone keeps saying his name.

The physical contact steadies him like nothing else could. Leonard feels the joy in each embrace and instinctively opens his heart to it. He thinks he's crying but he isn't the only one so that's okay.

"Enough, enough!" a voice shouts. "Don't hog him—_Bones!_"

Jim has wormed his way into the crowd of suddenly possessive medical personnel, undoubtedly with a few surreptitious elbow jabs here and there. Kirk grins at Leonard, as proud as McCoy has ever seen him, and catches his shoulders in a fierce hold.

"Bones, congratulations!"

"Jim," Leonard manages weakly on his second try to speak, "this wasn't necessary..."

"Of course it's necessary," his friend insists and pulls him into his arms. "You are very necessary to all of us, Bones," Jim whispers to Leonard as they hug. "_Congratulations_. One of the best men aboard my ship."

"We're all good men," Leonard says as they break apart. He sees Uhura demanding her turn and Christine, hands on her hips behind Sulu and Scotty, and corrects, "Good men and women." He pauses. "And Vulcan."

"Quite tactful, Doctor," a voice rumbles almost right in his ear.

Leonard pulls away from the next person in line wanting to latch onto him, who is—damn it!—that sneaky ensign (how in blazes did he get over here?), and looks behind him. "Oh, Jesus, did I hug you, Spock?"

Several people around him grin.

Spock murmurs beneath the noise of the generally happy chaos, "It need not be announced."

Leonard thinks about it for a split second and sniffs, holding out his arms. "I don't remember doing it... so it doesn't count. C'mere."

Spock's eyes widen a tiny, tiny fraction.

"Jim!" Leonard cries as the Vulcan prudently steps behind one lieutenant then another and begins to slowly disappear into the crowd. "Don't let him get away!"

But Jim is laughing too hard into his sleeve to be of any use.

Well, damn, Leonard thinks. And he was just starting to believe this award business might become fun!

**The End**


End file.
